July 29, 2015
We’ve all heard the terrifying statistics: In our world today, there are an estimated 150 million orphaned children. These children face more than just loneliness. They face a future without hope. They face increased risk of disease, trafficking, malnutrition, and death.
In fact, right now, at this moment, in the 3 seconds that it took us to read those statistics, 3 children have died. That means that three children are now facing an eternity separated from God, because there was no one to tell them about Jesus. No one to tell them the good news of salvation and forgiveness at the cross. No one to show them the love of God.
It’s time for us to wake up! It’s time for us to take our responsibility seriously to “Go into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature.” (Mark 16:15) While we are sitting comfortably in our pews listening to nice sermons, while we are hosting nice brunches with the ladies in our church, while we are attending our nice Bible studies and printing our nice brochures and listening to our nice songs, we are completely neglecting God’s purpose for His followers: to take the good news to the people, including the children, who are lost and dying without Him.
What are we waiting for? He didn’t say, Go after you are happily married. Go when your children are grown. Go when your career is established and when you have your house paid off and when your retirement package is secure. He doesn’t even say, Go when you have more free time or when you feel better equipped or when you feel more qualified. He simply says, Go. It’s a command we have ignored for far too long.
July 18, 2015
“I loved you like there was no tomorrow.
And then one day there wasn’t.” - unknown
The image, the haunting, nagging image, is forever etched in my mind. The image of the white county-issue car, the social worker in the driver’s seat, the top of the baby seat just visible through the back window, heading down my driveway, the brake lights getting smaller with each turn of the wheels. One of my most beloved treasures, the little one I adore to the very center of my marrow, is leaving.
I know that it is only for the day, for a little while. I know that she will return later this afternoon, and I will once again hug her close and squeeze her chubby thighs and tickle her round tummy that jiggles when she laughs. But for the next few hours there is a hollowness in my heart, a void that only she is able to fill. For the next few hours, in a dark foreshadowing of what may indeed become real when the judge bangs the gavel for the last time, my arms are empty.
The image, the haunting, nagging image, is forever etched in my mind. The image of the clear hospital bassinet, the wires snaking into it from the machines against the wall, the top of my baby’s head just visible underneath the blankets. I am walking away from my beloved treasure, the little one I adore to the very center of my marrow, unsure of when I will see my baby again.
I know that it is only temporary, for a little while. I know that I will see my child next week, or maybe the week after that, and will once again kiss her round cheeks and feel those tiny fingers wrapped tightly around mine. But for the next few days, or maybe weeks, there is a hollowness in my heart, a void that only this baby is able to fill. For now, with a frightening foreboding of what the future might hold, my arms are empty.